THE HEIR OF KARHIDE: The Son of the King
by Mojo Jojo1
Summary: Darkness lurks in Karhide when mad king Argaven becomes pregnant. Estraven and Ai must do everything in their power to make sure the child is ::never:: born. A fanfiction about LeGuin's classic "The Left Hand of Darkness."
1. Chapter I: The Ansible Document

**The Son of the King**

_From the archive of Hain. Transcript of Ansible_

_Document 01-13765-377-2-Gethen: To the Stabile_

_On Ollul: Report from Genly Ai, First Mobile on_

_Gethen/Thanern, Hanish Cycle 93, Ekumenical_

_Year 1490-97_

               You have enquired at to the status of my mission. Unfortunately, I have no good news to report from Ehrenrang. I was brought into the audience of the king, having been counselled earlier against it at the better advice of his prime minister, Lord Estraven, who advised me, albeit cryptically, as to the infirmity of the king's mind and his adamant opposition to the proposition I bring from the Ekumenical Council. Their warnings wear ill on my mind. It seems strange that this king, who has shown me so much hospitality and kindness during my visit to this planet should lead me around so happily by the nose, while all the time having checkmated me.

               The king became defensive when I presented my offer to him from the Council, and enraged at the mention of Lord Estraven, of whom I had heard, only seconds before my presentation to his majesty, had been stripped of rank and title and sent into remote exile. He had been replaced by the king's cousin: Lord Pemmer Har rem ir Tibe. 

               I wondered briefly if I had been the cause of his grief. He had frankly informed me that if I pursued my course of action he would no longer support my cause before the king, and so perhaps even having had the slightest alignment with my cause – I should say speculative cause, since I had yet to announce the purpose of my visit heretofore – may have compromised his position.

               Estraven had laid the onus entirely on his own shoulders, and yet, I feel that I had just as much to do with it as anything else. I believe that these Gethenians, for all their backwardness, have their own form of chivalry and gentlemanliness of which I have foolishly paid no heed.

               Yet, I think up until now I have been much too hard of myself. I assume that my mission here has led to Estraven's demotion and humiliation; however, neglect to recall that this may all, indeed, be his fault as he had once assured me. The king may be insane, but I find Estraven to be the most contrary of all people that I have met on this frozen, wasted excuse of a planet.

               I will report back in detail shortly after more enquiry into the matters at hand.

End: _Document 01-13765-377-2-Gethen_


	2. Chapter II: As Much Mine As Yours

**Son of the King ****–**** Chapter II**

"As Much Mine As Yours."

Pemmer Har rem ir Tibe, cousin to the king, shrunk into the shadows of the palace hallways. Leaning behind the door frame of the king's inner chamber, well hidden from view, he observed the king closely. His madness was never more evident that now, when he was in kemmer, as was the case at this moment. Argaven paced furiously back and forth mumbling unintelligibly beneath his breath. He rubbed his cheeks briskly with the palms of his hands, hunched into himself.

"My lord, King," Tibe greeted him, drawing himself up from the darkness of the corners of the palace. He stood a head taller than his cousin Argaven, his frame more muscular, his face more angular. He was wrapped generously in dark furs, the redness of his velvet tunic peeking out seductively from beneath the pelt, a golden ring upon his forefinger – the emblem of his new station. Argaven turned on his heel, looking into Tibe's dark eyes.

"You are in kemmer, Lord. It is not wise to spend all your energy so unwisely. Please, sit and rest. Allow me to pour you a mug of beer."

Argaven stood in his pace, arms akimbo. His face was distorted into a countenance of shock mingled with disbelief. Who was this Tibe? A hearthmate, a cousin, but still a slave to his royal desires, surely! But yet, this new man, this subject, this cousin, dared address him so informally; dared to command his very actions – _his, the king's! All the same, he __was right. It was useless to spend his energy so uselessly._

Tibe filled a mug to the brim with beer and gave it to the king, who, upon accepting the vessel willingly into his hands, quaffed the golden liquid eagerly. "Where is the one to whom I've pledged kemmering?" the king queried, resting the beer mug in his lap. He wiped flecks of foam from his mouth with his sleeve. Tibe clasped his hands together before him.

"My Lord, he has been sent for post-haste. Until then, I would insist that you relax. You are so – so excitable! Please, drink more. It's good for your strength, of which you will undoubtedly need every iota. You know better than I that Karhide is in dire need of a prince." The faint trace of a smile played his lips as the king continued to drink his beer.

A shuffle of feet echoed in the hall behind the king and the prime minister. Tibe turned and left the king alone, descending once again into the shadows of the palace to confer with the guards for whom he had sent.

There were three of them, dressed in their respective uniforms, archaic foray guns strapped to their shoulders. "My Lord Tibe," the commander began, "all has be dealt with according to your instructions given."

"Excellent. Thank-you, gentlemen," Tibe responded, smugly satisfied. The three left his audience in tight formation, their guns bouncing joyfully against their backs as they walked away. Tibe turned around and gazed into the dimly lit anteroom where the king sat, one leg slung over the arm of a chair, his body weight settling into the cushion of the seat. His head bobbled side to side, intoxicated.

Tibe began to remove his jewellery – the ring, his silver necklace; he removed his overwhelming furs and blazing scarlet tunic. All these things he tossed neatly into a corner. He re-entered the king's inner sanctum clad only in breeches, bare-chested and bare-footed. He, too, was in kemmer.

Tibe moved up closer to Argaven. Once upon the man, he extended his hand to stroke his cheek. The king stirred beneath his touch, cradling Tibe's hand to his cheek. "I am here to keep my pledge of kemmering to my Lord," Argaven said, raising the pitch of his voice. The king smiled weakly, "Ah, Moren!" he called, succumbing 

_You are a fool, Argaven, if you would presume for even a minute that I would not take this chance! thought Tibe to himself. __You will bear my son, and he will be as much my son as yours. After all, the kingdom is now as much mine as it is yours!_


	3. Chapter III: A Letter to Estraven

**The Son Of The King ****–**** Chapter III**

"A Letter to Therem Harth rem ir Estraven"

My dearest Estraven:

               I write you this letter to-day for numerous reasons. Unthinkingly, and with much ignorance, I neglected to take serious your council and kept my audience with the king. Your warnings to me were not only accurate, but completely trustworthy. The man is, for all intents and purposes, insane. His whole demeanour, his manner of speech, the way he postures, even the way he shifts his body weight all confer that he is demented in some malignant way. It's quite unlike anything I have ever seen.

               He interrogated me to the fullest extent, answering my questions with more questions of his own, playing shifgrethor with me for the pleasure of the court than being serious with me. Mind you he had nothing but the most vitriolic things to say concerning the matter of you. He regarded me simply as your "tool," and this being the case warranted me no punishment, only his deepest sympathy and pity on my part. I daresay, however, that I _have been punished – punished from the moment I put foot to ground on this planet._

               He imparted his mad logic to me: _do not trust a soul, Mr. Ai! Nonetheless, more the fool was I since I did not trust you! Of course, Lord Tibe was close at hand beside his king, listening in silence to Argaven as he rambled on about lies and deception, about how you had manipulated him. Undoubtedly, this itself is only a manipulation on Tibe's part._

               This, however, is not the only reason why I write to you. Although you are much estranged from the court, I believe that you deserve to hear what is transpiring in your absence.

               The king dismissed me, obviously disinterested in the future of his country, instead consumed by his own madness and megalomaniac tendencies. There is very little I can accomplish in the way of persuasion. As fickle as he is, he hangs on Tibe's every word, just as he must have hung on yours once upon a time, and it is Tibe that rules in Ehrenrang now. Tibe, as I'm sure you are already aware, abhors me almost as much as he despises you, but instead of committing me to death or exile, as he would if he thought he could, he has "hung me out to dry" so to speak.

               I have been demoted from welcomed guest to a pariah of sorts. Tibe has risen the war hoop of "pervert" because of my permanent kemmer, which for some reason, seems illogical and twisted in Gethenian society. I had come to this planet alone in the hopes of showing your king the future of the entire universe, that I was not a threat but merely Genly Ai, a messenger. They will not acknowledge the future I speak of, but at least I am not considered to be a threat. Once bright spot – I am still free to wander the palace as I see fit.

               And now I must take a moment to speak sincerely with you about Lord Tibe. This leads me to the real intent behind my letter. I apologise for assuming that you were as backhanded, devious, and intrinsically corrupt as I previously assumed. You are, if there ever was a truer, patriot. Lord Tibe, on the other hand, loves none but himself and he makes that evident on every occasion. Even as I scribble this letter, he is plotting some scheme, a scheme which I have just now discovered. I feel compelled to relate it to you:

               It was a particularly cold evening. I have never been accustomed to this climate. It is completely foreign to me. Even fire does not warm me here. I awoke in my bed, covered in furs and blankets, but still chilled to the bones. I slid off the bed and wrapped the fur around my body, leaving the room. I had hardly made it three feet down the hallway when I heard an exhausted groaning. I followed the sound into a remote, secluded area of the palace.

               It was Moren, the one to whom the king had pledged kemmering. He had been wrapped in draperies, bound by the hands and feet, gagged and knocked out into a semi-unconscious state. Only now had he started to come to. I lifted him up off the floor where he lay. He same into my arms, still unable to control his body, floating in and out of reality. I asked him saying, "My dear sir, whatever happened to you?" He muttered something I could not make out, tossing his head to and fro in the cradle of my arms.

               "Ti – ti – ," he stuttered, his voice trailing off into the silence. I knew it must have been the work of some goons acting on Tibe's insistence. May I inform you that I was not shocked by this thing he had dome. I laid the man on a bed, freeing him from his bondage. It would still take come while before he would fully recover. I left the room.

               If I had been conscious of the squeaking of my boots as I stood before the king, I was conscious of my bare feet and their silence on the stone floor. I made my way into the kitchens, wading through the pitch blackness of the palace hallways. Is this why Gethenian eyes glow orange? Does it help you find you way?

               I never knew how large the palace kitchens could be. It took me almost an hour to feel my way around the place to find the beer vat, but once I had found it I felt well rewarded. No sooner had I laid hand to spigot, than I felt an even larger hand than my own grab mine. He carried a torch. I recognised his face immediately – Lord Tibe!

               He stood there beside me, bare-chested from the waist up, wearing only tan breeches and barefoot like myself. His eyes were glowing orange like the dying embers of a fire. As I looked at him I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on knife's edge. The sensation was so intense it could have neurologically registered as painful. He pushed his face so close to mine that I could feel he warm breath against my skin. It was surprisingly sweet.

               He flicked a switch and the room was flooded with light. "Allow me," he proffered, removing my hand from the spigot. I seated myself at the galley table. Tibe sat down beside me, pushing a mug of hot beer into my hand.

               "It's a little late for you to be abroad, Mr Ai. Wouldn't you agree?" he asked, sardonically. I feigned naïveté.

               "I was thirst, Lord. Not to mention, unreasonably cold."

               "Ah, yes! I forget that you get cold easily. Is it much warmer on your planet?"

               "Yes, Terra is much warmer," I told him, sipping from my mug. The beer had a warming sensation that took instant effect on me. He drew himself closer.

               "Mr Ai, it is a shame that we must meet like this – when I am in kemmer," he said, stretching out his hand. He traced my stubbly upper lip with his thumb, cradling my chin in the palm of his hand. I pulled away. He was no longer the malevolent driving force of Argaven. He was in lust and weakened! This raised much interest on my part. If he had been curious as to my agenda, I was more than interested in his. He could only be up to no good, even at his seemingly weakest moments. Why was the prime minister of Gethen stalking the hallways of the palace at night almost naked? An enigma wrapped in a conundrum. 

               It was only until some time after that I was able to take these bits and pieces of knowledge I had and put them together. Argaven was pregnant.


End file.
